


With or Without You

by PerilouslyClose



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerilouslyClose/pseuds/PerilouslyClose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of Sarah O'Brien's favourite brother has far-reaching consequences for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sarah O'Brien was harder than most, but even she could not escape the realities of War. There was a big wide world outside the village of Downton, beyond the house she had reluctantly called home for eleven years now; they couldn't all sit around a dining table and darn their mistress' delicates. It seemed almost every bloody week they lost a footman, a hall boy, a groom, to His Majesty's service, and more often than not they were never heard from again. The rest of them fell into two categories; those waiting to be called up with bated breath, desperate to get out there and fight for king and country. She called that lot the stupid sods, and Thomas, daft bugger, had slotted right into that category. The second lot had her sympathy, and that was something Sarah barely ever gave, because they didn't  _want_  to go to war; they knew they might not ever come back.

Her brothers, god love them all, fell into the first category. She had five of them, each as stupid as the other and as bloody lovable, and only one of them had hesitated when the time had come to sign up. As always Alfie had been the one resist, but he'd always been a home bird anyway. He was never as happy as when he on the farm with Dad, smoking a cheeky cigarette behind the cowshed – silly sod still thought Dad didn't know – and working a hard, long day at home where he belonged. He was a strong young lad, but he had the softest of hearts, and he was still so  _young_. She'd never been prouder of him when he'd said no, and there wasn't a thing wrong with being scared – those that got themselves killed were the ones who pretended they weren't. But more than anything, she was relieved; relieved for Alfie, relieved for her father and relieved for  _herself_. She wasn't stupid enough to believe she'd be lucky enough to have all her brothers survive, and at least this way she'd still have one left at the end of it all.

Well, until conscription had snapped him up anyway.

Her dim-witted brothers weren't the only thing on her mind though – god forbid she'd ever be allowed a moment to think about herself. Whilst the stupid sods ran off to get themselves killed, she had a Countess to contend with, one who still behaved like it was nineteen-bloody-thirteen and swanned around in her evening gowns and pretty little robes and demanded even  _more_  of her than she had before. And strangely enough, she gave it. She gave every little piece of already stretched-thin self to the woman in the hopes of producing a smile, and more often than not she failed, and she knew exactly why because she'd been responsible for it all. It still haunted her, the cries of pain, the crimson on the floor, and the crush of her mistress' hand as she delivered the tiny, miserable thing that never had a chance to draw a breath but frequented her nightmares still.

"Miss O'Brien."

Carson's familiarly gruff voice startled her reverie and thank god too; she'd been heading back into the dark place, and that always meant a nightmare or two, not that she didn't deserve it. Sometimes Sarah thought she'd be better off burning in hell, but being by Cora's side and seeing her pain was penance enough. Sarah soon noticed a pair of eyes fixed on her and looked up to meet Daisy's gaze; she pursed her lips and gave her the usual menacing stare. She was harmless enough, but it was times like these that Sarah couldn't bear the rest of this misbegotten lot.

"Shall I have a picture taken for you or would you prefer just to stare?" she drawled flatly.

The girl stuttered a response and ducked her head, and Sarah felt a small measure of regret. She didn't blame Daisy for staring really – she must look a right miserable cow sitting and staring down at her work and remembering that day of utter anguish – but if there was one thing Sarah didn't like it was pity, and certainly not from the idiots she worked with. She wouldn't have it from Thomas, not that he'd ever give it, and she  _certainly_  wouldn't have it from Daisy.

"That's enough, Miss O'Brien," Carson chimed in predictably, and held something out in her general direction. She felt her heartbeat quicken at the sight of it, and had pushed herself up and out of her chair before Carson could even announce it was for her.

Sarah practically snatched the letter from his hands, and Carson simply raised a brow before taking his customary position at the head of the table but she barely noticed. Her entire being was focused on the envelope in her hands. She briefly contemplated tucking it into her pocket and opening it later, but it had been so long since she'd heard from one of her brothers that she couldn't wait, and used the needle she had been using on her ladyship's lacy garment to slice it open, retrieving the precious scrap of paper inside.

She should have guessed really. The envelope hadn't been thick enough to contain a letter; the O'Brien brothers loved to bloody ramble on about nothing, and there was nothing in here but a single rectangular piece of paper. A telegram of course, from the war office, addressed to Miss Sarah Jane O'Brien.

It didn't say much, but what it did say was enough to stop her cold.

"Good news, Miss O'Brien?"

Sarah didn't hear her at first. She was too caught up in the grief slicing through her like a knife to give a damn about the rest of the people at the dining table, but she eventually became aware of a pair of curious eyes on her, and she looked up to Anna with a knee-jerk reaction of disdain.

"What's it t'you?"

But she couldn't know, could she? As far as Anna Smith was concerned, Sarah O'Brien was entirely alone in the world. She'd never mentioned her parents and she'd never mentioned her brothers and she was determined for it to stay that way. Besides, the girl hadn't meant any harm. Sometimes she thought she did, but that was all Bates' influence. Anna had been alright before  _he_  had come along, but now she was just another person Sarah didn't have the time of day for. It was just Thomas and Her Majesty these days.

"She was only asking."

Bates.

Sarah scowled stood up abruptly with the telegram clenched in his fist. Never mind pity, the one thing she hated more than anything was John bloody Bates sticking his nose into her business – what did anything she said or did have to do with him,  _or_  Anna for that matter? She preferred to stay out of their business the best she could; the least they could do would be to reciprocate and leave her the bleedin' hell alone, especially now.

"Well she shouldn't have asked, and it's got nothin' to do with you either, Mr. Bates. Anna can speak for herself, y'know. She always did before  _you_  turned up."

She left them to it, fleeing the Servant's Hall for the familiar safety of the yard where she process the news in peace. No doubt she'd be the sole topic of their scornful gossip for the remainder of afternoon tea – and they thought  _she_  was bad – but she had an appointment with a fag.

~

Cora Crawley had taken to retiring to her room in the time between breakfast and evening dinner which seemed to endlessly drag. It was impossible not to make something of an appearance during the day, for the sake of morale - it would do Downton little good if its mistress was to shut herself away indefinitely. So she tried her best to be involved in things, and to limited success. Her lack of desire for Robert's company was better left unsaid, and lately even the  _girls_  exhausted her.

Sybil was filled with a boundless enthusiasm for the changes that were apparently imminent in society, and, though Cora tried to indulge her, she simply couldn't find the strength to long for a new world when all she really wanted was a return to the comfortable world she had known before. Mary was trying to fill the role Cora had left vacant by her physical and mental absence, finding time to deal with Mrs Hughes and welcoming visitors to the house with a courtesy and deportment she had learnt from years of observation, but Cora found her pride was not whole. She hated that her daughter was prematurely thrust into this role and a small part of her still longed for the child she had lost, her boy, her heir, and she wished in those moments that Mary would never be the Countess of Grantham, and that nobody but her son would be Earl. And Edith, her beautiful Edith who wanted nothing more than her mother's attention…Cora could barely stand to be in the same room with her.

The only face she seemed to want to see these days was the one belonging to the woman she was contemplating summoning well before the dressing gong, a woman who would probably have to drag herself from the comfort of the servant's hall and a cup of tea to attend to her, and would do so without the slightest hesitation. Poor O'Brien … she really was rather sweet in her own way, and Cora couldn't imagine surviving the last few weeks, months,  _years_  without her. She certainly wouldn't have survived the death of her child.

It plagued her still, more than she liked to admit, even almost two years later, but it wasn't just  _her_  that had suffered; Robert had grieved too, but not with her. The only person he seemed to let his guard down around these days was Bates, and she was damned if she knew why. Cora  _still_  couldn't fathom his fondness for a man who could barely do his job, Batman or not, even all these years later, when he had done nothing but complain about O'Brien from the second she had hired her! She was efficient, she was loyal, she was honest, and, if none of those other qualities were evidence enough of her worth, she had stayed by her side, holding her hand during every agonising second of her son's birth. It couldn't have been easy, but she had not complained once. She had stroked her hair and let her scream, all the while chanting comforting nonsense that Cora barely heard but that soothed her all the same. She had been different since that day, blaming herself no doubt and Cora couldn't bear the thought of O'Brien feeling even a moment of guilt over something she had not been able to prevent.

Maybe they could suffer together?

She rang the bell.

~

What Sarah wouldn't give for Thomas now. A fag in the yard and a good old rant about Bates and Anna would do her the world of good, but instead she stood alone, with her last bloody cigarette for a while – this rationing was already doing her head in – and the content of the miserable sodding letter ringing in her ears. Her brother was dead. Her youngest,  _favourite_  brother that had never wanted to fight in the first place was dead. And he wouldn't be, if they hadn't sent him home from the front with shell shock and sent him right back again! She screwed the letter up in her hand and took an unnecessarily long drag of her cigarette, but it was all she could do to quell her nerves. She couldn't stop her hand from shaking though, or her heart from racing as she thought about her brother lying dead in some makeshift hospital, or being tossed in some grave in the middle of nowhere. Had he died immediately? Or days, maybe even  _weeks_  later, after suffering from his wounds? Had anyone even be there for him at the end? As fond as she was of Thomas, if  _all_  army medics were like him she didn't reckon Alfie had much in the way of comfort at the end.

She thought about her father. If she'd got the telegram from the war office, did Melvyn O'Brien even know his son was dead? He'd been working so bloody hard since the boys had gone, but always with the hope they'd return. The first O'Brien casualty, and Alfie too, would hit him hard and it would fall to her to tell him; Sarah didn't even know if she could bear the look on his face, let alone the questions.

How the bloody hell would they keep the farm going?

She could hardly see her sisters-in-law picking up their skirts and muddying their boots; they were the ditzy kind, who wouldn't be caught dead milking a cow, and the oldest of her small army of nieces and nephews was twelve. Young enough to avoid the call thank god, but much too young to be put to work on his grandfather's land. And they could hardly hire workers; the family barely had enough money to support themselves, never mind strangers! Sarah sent almost every penny she earned back to her father, and it still wouldn't be enough.

She could ask for a raise. Cora would probably give it to her too, but it wasn't up to her, and his lordship would rather have her sacked than paid more money, and she would never give him the reason he needed to have her tossed out and away from her lady. Anyway, it wouldn't be enough; what her father really needed was experienced hands that would work for nothing, and who was there?

Her mother would have never stood for this. Madge O'Brien would have been on the first bloody ship out to give the Germans a piece of her mind; Sarah would have rated their chances of winning the war highly if she had. She'd never been one to mess with, and maybe if she'd lived Alfie would have stood a chance of survival; she'd gone out of this world giving him life in the first place, was it really likely she'd let King and bloody country take it away?

"Miss O'Brien."

She closed her eyes. What the bloody hell was it now? She took a long drag of her cigarette for strength and expelled the smoke in a sigh.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?"

Who else would interrupt her mid-afternoon cigarette without blinking, and no doubt she'd heard about the mysterious letter that had shaken up miserable old O'Brien herself. As usual, Hughsie looked mightily pleased with herself. What did she have to be so pleased about? What did anyone have to be pleased about these days? The older woman rounded the corner with an arched eyebrow and pursed lips, briefly looking disdainfully in the direction of the cigarette before meeting her eyes.

"It's her ladyship's bell."

"Now?"

It wasn't even close to the dressing gong; what could Cora possibly want at this time of the day? She felt a prickle down her spine. She wasn't ready to face the other woman yet, not least because she stank of smoke, but her ladyship was sharper than she looked and she didn't have a chance in hell of hiding her misery from her.

"Now, Miss O'Brien," Hughes echoed dryly. Her lips were a thin line. "Unless you'd prefer me to tell her you're  _much_  too busy?"

Sarah tightened her jaw. The last thing she needed right now was sass from Elsie Hughes, but at least that was one thing in this house that hadn't changed. Everything else had.

"I'll go up," she muttered, taking one last puff and stubbing the cigarette out on the nearby bench. There was no way Cora wouldn't know she'd been having a fag, but if she didn't know by now then she really was a daft cow.

She couldn't summon up anything but fondness for the other woman though, and let the extinguished cigarette fall to the floor with an irritated sigh. When had she become this simpering woman who dropped everything to attend to Cora's needs and was  _glad_  to do it? She'd just lost her brother but she still ran to her mistress' side like she was all that mattered in the world.

When had she started caring so bloody much?

_When you killed her child, you miserable cow_.

It was deeper than that, but she was hardly going to analyze her deepest, darkest feelings now when she had a job to do, and she owed Cora punctuality at the very least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of Sarah O'Brien's favourite brother has far-reaching consequences for all.

The minute Sarah came through the door she knew something was wrong. Something usually was these days, and her mistress' face was notably darker than usual. The Countess clearly hadn't slept; she'd surmised as much this morning when she'd arrived with her breakfast and seen the dark circles underneath her eyes. And as for his lordship, the stupid git had clearly spent the night in his own room.

Sometimes she wondered whether Lord Grantham had any bloody sense at all, but that was too easy, even for her. Any man who forced his wife to attend a bleedin'  _garden party_  when it wasn't a week since she'd lost her child was clearly barking mad, and, not only that, he didn't deserve her either. Sarah had seen how Cora had suffered that day; the memory of her face, of the touch of her hand and the _dear O'Brien_ was practically burned into her memory now. The same expression was haunting her face now, and Sarah knew instinctively that her mistress was reliving it all. Some days Sarah wished she had the courage to tell Cora what she had done. At least then she wouldn't blame  _herself_  for the death of her child, and that was what plagued her the most; if only I hadn't slipped, if only I'd been more careful, if only, if only, if only. If only  _she_  hadn't been such a spiteful, bitter cow Lady Grantham's son would be alive, and Cora would be able to sleep at night.

She gave the Countess her best smile – funny, she never used to smile, not even falsely, but these days she'd do anything for Cora – closing the door behind her.

"What can I do for you m'lady?"

Cora couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped from her lips at the sight of the other woman. She was beginning to feel much too miserable on her own, and O'Brien's presence usually worked wonders in bringing her mood back up to some sort of normal, placid level.

She smiled warmly from her place at the vanity table. She'd been attempting to braid her hair; it seemed silly that she could barely do something so simple, and she'd needed something to distract her from her wandering mind in the time it took O'Brien to reach her once she'd rung the bell. As usual, it had taken her barely any time at all, and she'd not got much further than the first few steps.

"Oh...nothing, O'Brien. Not really."

She was definitely in one of her funny moods again, and Sarah shuffled closer knowingly. She wanted to put her hand on her shoulder, but these days she didn't know how familiar she was permitted to be. She'd been with her in the worst hours of her life after all; was a hand on a shoulder really too familiar? But the last time she'd thought that, that Cora might think enough of her to call her a  _friend_ , she'd been sorely disappointed, and the words perilously close still haunted her, even to this day.

"Would you like some company, m'lady?"

She had read her mind again. O'Brien was unnervingly good at that. And oh dear, she'd caught her mid-cigarette. Cora recognized the tell-tale scent lingering on the other woman's clothes. She found it oddly comforting, and associated it utterly with the woman who had been her rock for near-on two decades.

"Only if you're not busy, of course." She offered the other woman a tentative smirk. "I wouldn't want you in trouble with Mrs. Hughes."

"I only have to breathe to get in trouble with Mrs. Hughes, m'lady."

Perhaps she'd gone too far? Cora was fond of the housekeeper after all, she'd kept her around for long enough, and as far as her ladyship knew, Hughes was perfectly fair. And she was…to a degree. She always had a bone to pick with  _her_ , and she didn't doubt it had more than a bit to do with her outranking the woman at the very beginning. She might be fair to most, but Elsie Hughes didn't half hold a grudge!

To her relief the Countess laughed – genuine laughter that warmed her heart and made her smile too. Cora's laughter was scarce these days, and Sarah couldn't help but be pleased with herself, soppy sod she was, for managing to produce it in the first place, even with the telegram still dominating her thoughts. She moved over, seeing Cora struggling with the mess she imagined was supposed to be a braid, and took hold of the locks instead. It would be a good distraction, hair always was, but then her fingers slid over the other woman's, and for a moment she stopped.

She'd been attending to Cora for  _years_ , but lately things seemed different. Her stomach fluttered with the prospect of the bell ringing, and her heart hammered in her chest, but not quite as hard as it did now.

"Don't worry O'Brien, I'll vouch for you."

"I know m'lady. You always have."

They exchanged a smile in the mirror, one that warmed Cora's heart and made Sarah's flutter. She looked away uncomfortably, wondering why it had all been so much more difficult lately, why every touch felt more meaningful, and every look made her heart pound like a bloody jack in the box; guilt she supposed. She wasn't surprised she couldn't look Lady Grantham in the eye after what she'd done.

Cora frowned in concern at the look. They'd been having such a lovely time, and something had changed. In fact, how had she not noticed before that O'Brien seemed different entirely? Her shoulders were tense, her smile was strained, and the warmth in her eyes, though there as always, was dulled. Had she done something wrong? She couldn't recall doing anything that O'Brien might find objectionable. Lady Rosamund hadn't visited recently after all, and it was only then she had to ask a little more of O'Brien than usual. And there had been no more confrontations since the incident in the Servant's Hall three years ago that still made her flush with shame.

"O'Brien, are you well?"

Bollocks. Not only had Anna bloody Smith noticed she was under the weather, but now her ladyship had too, and whilst she could tell Anna to sod off and go and sulk with a cigarette in the yard, she certainly couldn't do the same to Cora Crawley. But the Countess had her own problems, she didn't need to worry about her too.

"I am m'lady."

She hoped that, accompanied by a smile, would do, but from the look on Cora's face she doubted it, and she was right. Cora looked back at her suspiciously, and couldn't help the hurt she felt in her chest. O'Brien never usually spoke about herself – it was a trait most ladies would find very agreeable indeed, but not her. She enjoyed the vague snippets of O'Brien's life before Downton that she deigned to share with her, but they were few and far between. This was different though – something was very clearly wrong, and O'Brien was refusing to share.

"O'Brien, I should like to think you would trust me enough to confide in me if something was wrong."

"Of  _course_  I trust you, m'lady!"

The words exploded from her like thunder and she momentarily blushed. She hadn't meant to be quite so forceful but she would never have her lady thinking she didn't  _trust_  her. There'd been a time Sarah might have scoffed at the very notion – she'd trusted her in the past and been burnt – but things were different now. She'd trust Cora with her life and she hoped to god the Countess felt the same because she'd walk through bloody fire for her a thousand times over just to keep her safe from harm.

There was nothing else for it then; she had to tell her.

She reached into her pocket, retrieving the scrunched up piece of paper that she'd hidden hastily before joining her mistress, and passed it to Cora with a shaky hand.

Cora frowned softly as she accepted the telegram, unfolding it with utter delicacy and reached out to take the other woman's trembling hand; she had never seen her hand shake, not once in ten years of service and it scared her almost as much as the madness in France did. She held on tighter, gripping it just like Sarah had done for her when she'd lost her son, as she read the telegram. The words were so carelessly and messily scribbled it might be nothing more than an invitation to dinner.

" _Deeply regret to inform you that A M O'Brien died of wounds August 22nd. The Army Council express their deepest sympathy."_

Cora looked up, her heart aching for the woman doing her damn best to hold herself together, to be the tower of strength she usually was, but understandably failing. O'Brien had mentioned Alfie before, more than anybody else in fact, and each time Cora hadn't missed the wealth of affection lurking behind her voice. She could practically imagine him now – so young and full of life, tossing leaves onto a burning bonfire with the same smile Cora saw everyday on her maid's beautiful face. And he was dead, like so many others, and O'Brien had lost her brother.

"I'm sorry." The words felt so utterly hollow to her ears, but what else to say? She understood? She didn't. Her husband was here, her daughter's too, and Cousin Matthew at least had the protection of his rank. "I'm  _so_  sorry."

"He was nineteen years old, and they sent him home five weeks ago with shell shock."

Sarah's lips curled up in a bitter smile. Just three weeks ago he'd been alive – he'd been a little worse for wear but at least he'd been  _alive_. She'd held him in her bloody arms and told him everything was going to be alright, and now he was dead.

"They gave him two weeks to 'rest' an' called him back. He could barely sleep through the night without screaming; he was a  _mess_  but they still called him back. And now he's gone for good."

"Oh,  _O'Brien_."

Cora reacted before she even knew what she was doing and leaned in, wrapping her arms around Sarah and pulling her close, resting one hand against her back and the other stroking her hair. She'd done this before of course, but it didn't happen often. She told Sarah practically  _everything_  yet she could count the number of times they'd embraced on one hand. Tears pricked at her own eyes at the feel of Sarah trying  _so_ hard to fight the grief she could feel was consuming her from the shaking of her body. She'd always been so strong before, so utterly impenetrable and sometimes the only thing keeping her together, but now she was grieving, and Cora knew she couldn't make that any better but she could do  _this_.

Sarah faltered, stunned momentarily by the feel of another body against hers, soft and warm and offering precisely the kind of comfort she usually neglected to allow herself. But she soon sank into it, reveling in the warmth and security of Cora's arms and allowed herself to bury her face in her mistress' neck.

"Does the rest of your family know?" Cora asked after a long moment of silence, stroking Sarah's back and holding her close. Her chief motive was to offer Sarah comfort of course, but she couldn't help but revel in it herself. She couldn't remember the last time Robert had held her like this; they'd been much too busy and much too distant and she didn't mindexactly – Robert was worried about Matthew and disappointed he couldn't fight, and she would hardly begrudge him that, even if it meant he remained safe at Downton with her. But she wouldn't deny that she'd missed it.

"I don't think so, m'lady. They sent the telegram to me, so my Dad…" His son was dead and Melvyn O'Brien didn't have a clue.

"You should go and see him."

"My next half day isn't for weeks yet-"

"Your half day? Goodness O'Brien, what you must think of me! You'll go there tomorrow. Branson will drive you, and you will stay for as long as you need to."

"But  _you_  need me, m'lady, I couldn't-"

"Nonsense. After everything you've done for me, I'd be a monster if I didn't allow you to be with your family after  _this_. I'll manage without you – Anna might be useless with corsets, but she's capable. I'll make do."

" _Thank_  you, m'lady. My father'll need some help, and there's not really anyone. I don't know how he'll manage the farm on his own. My other brother's are off at the front, stupid sods, and their wives aren't much good for farming. The only person that could possibly be of any help to him at all is…"

"You," Cora finished. O'Brien was going to leave her; she realized it the second the other woman did, and her chest swelled with sudden pain. Their eyes met at the same time their hands did, and to Sarah it was as if she'd read that telegram all over again, like she'd lost another person almost as dear to her as Alfie, maybe even  _just_  as dear. Her entire life for the last decade had revolved around Cora Crawley in every single bloody way, and to lose her now…

"I don't want to leave you, m'lady, I've been happy here."

And Cora had never been happier than she had with Sarah here, and the prospect of losing her broke her heart but she would  _not_  be that selfish.

"But your father needs you." She smiled as warmly as she could, despite the pain in her chest. She so desperately wished she could be more like her mother-in-law and demand Sarah stay no matter what, but she was no Violet Crawley and she  _cared_  about Sarah so much more than Violet had Simmons or any of the others that came before and after her. "I understand O'Brien; did you think I would be cross with you?"

She squeezed Cora's hand, smiling with all the warmth she could manage to salvage out of the crippling sadness. "Of course not, m'lady. I'm grateful for your understanding." She took in a deep breath. "Shall I dress you now, m'lady?

"You're not going to dress me O'Brien, that's not important now."

Cora moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her and Sarah reluctantly followed, not because she didn't want to join her, but she didn't think she could handle another heart to heart. 

"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

Sarah sniffled and something immediately sprung to mind. Something wild and mad and something she'd be embarrassed to say out loud in her more lucid moments but she'd heard about the soldiers of her class that died on the front and were left there, and she couldn't bear to think of her Alfie trampled thoughtlessly into the mud. She straightened her head the best she could to look Cora in the eye.

"I don't suppose...that is m'lady, is there any chance his lordship could find out if there's a body to bury? I don't suppose my Dad'll be able to afford it but it'd be nice to know he was buried…if he could be found."

Cora's heart broke more for Sarah in that moment than it had for anyone else before, with the exception of the son that had never had the chance to breathe his first gasp of air. She took her hand again, grasping it tightly and with the strength of all of the pain she felt for the other woman and gave her a decisive nod.

"I'll do anything I can for you, and-" Cora held Sarah's eyes and tried her hardest to communicate every bit of fondness and warmth she had for her, "if there  _is_  something I can do your father won't have to worry about the costs associated. That'll be taken care of, I assure you."

Sarah squeezed Cora's hand tighter and shook her head, riddled still with all the airs of servitude that she couldn't seem to break out of regardless of how absurdly close they'd seemingly grown.

"No m'lady, I couldn't. It'd be too much to ask of you and his lordship, you're already doing so much with the hospital."

She felt a sudden wave of sorrow and couldn't help but wonder – if Alfie had been a richer man, better stationed in life, would he be in that hospital now, recovering from his injuries? She didn't know Doctor Clarkson particularly well, she'd had no need to other than the accident really, but she didn't think he was the sort of man who'd be stupid enough to send a man clearly still suffering back to the front. She managed a small smile for Cora, wan and watery, but grateful all the same.

"There's very little you can ask me that I'll regard as 'too much'," Cora persisted. She patted Sarah's hand affectionately. "But we don't need to discuss that now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of Sarah O'Brien's favourite brother has far-reaching consequences for all.

Three hours later, Sarah was just about packed and ready to leave at first light. Her room had been stripped practically bare of the character it had developed over the last twelve years; there was nothing left but bed sheets and furniture and the occasional article of clothing of Cora's that had somehow made its way into her room. The bloody woman had so many clothes it was little wonder they were strewn all over  _her_  room; there'd been no space left in her own wardrobe, and her maid's had been the next best place for them. She had few outfits after all – why would she need them, when she practically never left the house? – just the two black dresses and a couple of finer ones, all donated by Cora of course, when she herself had tired of them. She used to hate her for them, for the hand-me-downs. They reminded her so starkly of everything Cora had that she'd never been blessed with save for when her mistress was feeling especially charitable, and Sarah had never liked charity.

There was one in particular though, the one she loved the best, which had been bought specifically _for_  her by her mistress. It was a beautiful chocolate color that apparently brought out her eyes (Thomas had laughed and laughed at that one); she'd never seen it herself, but Lady Grantham had been the one to say it and she supposed she'd know these things better than her. All she remembered is how the compliment made her feel inside. She remembered it even now, and how she'd never felt as beautiful as she did in that moment with the Countess holding the dress against her body and beaming like she really  _did_  think her beautiful, no matter how unlikely that was. She brushed her fingers over it as she folded it with far more care than she'd ever afforded anything else she possessed, and felt all those feelings flooding back like Cora was here right now and presenting it to her all over again.

"You're leaving us then, Miss O'Brien?"

Sarah's hand flew to her chest and she released a hissed curse of surprise as she whirled round, glare at the ready, to face a very amused looking Mrs. Hughes. Of course it would be Mrs. Hughes; there was no one else in this miserable place that would dare venture into her private sanctuary save Thomas and Cora, and the former was a long way away somewhere in the middle of France, and the latter…it was best not to think about her. It hurt too sodding much. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give the housekeeper the satisfaction of her ire, and turned back to her packing, reluctantly putting down the dress in her hands and attending to the few books she possessed instead.

"Seems so, Mrs. Hughes. I'm needed elsewhere."

She glanced at the other woman out of the corner of her eye as she stepped through the doorway and fully into her room, smiling insufferably in bemusement. It was bad enough she had to leave but the last thing she needed was Elsie Hughes coming to gloat.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "And how long will you be gone?"

Sarah's silence was probably answer enough and she focused on packing with a vengeance. The quicker she packed the less likely she was to change her mind, no matter how much she wanted to.

"I see," the housekeeper began in understanding. "Well, I can't pretend I won't enjoy the peace and quiet."

Sarah opened her mouth crossly to interject.

" _But_ ," Mrs. Hughes smirked, "I rather hope you  _do_  come back to us." She took her hand with a meaningful look. "To her."

Sarah wanted to tell her to stop being so stupid; Lady Grantham would be fine without her, she'd probably be  _happier_  with a more obedient maid who her husband didn't hate – someone younger, and with softer hands – but god help her, the thought of leaving Cora hurt nearly as much as losing Alfie. Of course Cora needed her; the sodding woman couldn't do anything for herself, she could barely even stir her tea, and worse than that what about her emotional welfare? Her smiles were few and far between and the last thing she needed was to lose her confidante, but what else was she supposed to do? Leave her father to work himself to death?

"Is that all you came here to say, Mrs. Hughes?" she grit her teeth and ripped her hand away, but for fuck's sake Hughes' smile didn't even waver. Why the bloody hell did she have to always be so smug and all-knowing anyway?

"That's all, Miss O'Brien." She paused – she had as much of a bloody flair for dramatics as the Dowager Countess herself! "And to wish you luck."

Bloody hell, was she beginning to get a bit misty-eyed? Sarah quickly chalked it down to irritation, or dust in her eye or something equally as plausible, because lord knows she wasn't crying over leaving  _Elsie Hughes_. Of all the people she'd miss, Sarah certainly wouldn't miss her, and even if she did – which she bloody didn't! – she would never admit it, least of all to the old battleaxe herself.

"Same to you." Sarah sighed as she felt herself cave, affording Hughes the honour – and it  _was_  an honour – of a brief smirk. The housekeeper wasn't that bad really, all things considered; she wasn't Bates after all. "You'll need it with me gone."

"Oh I don't know about that, Miss O'Brien. I imagine it will be nice to have a lady's maid that actually listens to a word I say."

Sarah arched a challenging eyebrow. "I've never answered to you, Mrs. Hughes; I answer to her ladyship an' no one else."

"Not anymore you don't. She's not your mistress anymore, O'Brien."

Sarah turned back to her suitcase with a snort of something resembling agreement, allowing her fingers to brush over the soft brown material of the dress for a moment longer before she packed it into the bag with the rest of her life – the life she'd shared with her – and zipped it up as abruptly as she tried to bury the feelings consuming her chest.

She might not work for Cora Crawley anymore, but god help her she would  _always_ be her mistress.

~

Sarah had decided to walk to the station, rather than have her mistress arrange for the car. She'd already been enough trouble and last night it had seemed impossible for her to have to face Cora again and see the disappointment on her face. She felt differently now though, and the regret was almost as crippling as the loss she already felt, after less than a bloody day away from the other woman! Thomas would laugh himself silly, but she couldn't help but mourn like she was losing a bleedin' limb.

The most important thing was that her father would have some help; at least that's what she kept telling herself to stop herself from turning back and going straight back to Downton and never leaving again. Besides, there was nothing for her at Downton, not really. Nobody was here to see her off – as if she'd expected anyone anyway, not with Thomas off at war and even then she'd have been surprised to have him show up – and the only person she gave a damn about she didn't think she'd be able to face right now anyway.

She'd go back to Scouthead and pick up her old life as if she'd never left, but she could never forget, not one bit of it, even the bad times, and hadn't there been plenty of them?

She pushed open the gate and walked the short few steps to the platform. She was cutting it bloody fine, but she had never been one for waiting. What she saw there made her stop dead.

"M'lady?"

Bloody hell, she'd come to see her off. And not only that, the daft woman had woken up at the break of dawn, quite obviously dressed herself – she'd missed at  _least_  three buttons on her bodice – and done absolutely nothing with her hair, save stick a few pins in. She was an absolute bloody mess but the most  _glorious_  one Sarah had ever laid eyes on. She'd never been so beautiful in twelve long years of service, and Sarah had seen all of her and then some. Sarah drew in a breath as her mistress turned to face her in the morning sunshine, and her heart nearly burst at her smile.

" _Dear_  O'Brien."

Cora drew closer, grasping her hands tightly in front of her body – it was the only thing stopping her from throwing her arms around the other woman and refusing to let go – and smiled warmly. Sarah had been so determined to have her stay at Downton but, for the first time in over a decade, Cora had no intention of listening to her maid. She'd had the kitchen-maid wake her up at the break of dawn – the poor girl had been so bewildered and terrified at being approached; Cora had never thought herself  _that_  scary – and for the first time in she couldn't remember how long she had dressed herself. It had been more difficult than she'd remembered, but then she'd always found buttons tricky, but she'd managed it somehow, spurred on no doubt by the terrifying possibility of missing Sarah's train and depriving herself of the chance to say goodbye to the woman who had been so much more than a maid for the last twelve years.

She had waited on the platform for nearly half an hour, petrified she'd somehow missed the train and dressed herself for nothing, but here Sarah was, in the very dress she herself had bought her. It looked more beautiful on her than she'd remembered it looking in the shop. Oh god, how would she ever cope without her?

"I wanted to make sure you caught your train. They can be notoriously unreliable and-"

She had barely finished her sentence before she found herself enveloped in Sarah's strong arms and pressed against a warm, solid body. The autumn chill melted away just as quickly as her surprise, and she buried her face in the warmth of the other woman's neck, clinging to her just as desperately, as if her touch alone could keep her rooted to this very spot.

"I refuse to let you leave me without saying goodbye, you foolish woman," she sniffed, clinging tighter and Sarah laughed shakily, tightening her grip on Cora and allowed herself the liberty of brushing her fingers through her hair like she'd done every night for almost two decades; it could very well be her last chance and if this was the last time she'd ever see her she'd be damned if she didn't say goodbye properly. She wanted to remember every single line on her face, every perfect bloody curve of her body, even the  _smell_  of her.

"You were never very good at listening to me, m'lady," she choked out, smiling despite the pain in her chest. "I don't know why I'm surprised."

She'd cut it fine though. Sarah had never been very good at waiting, but she'd have been here like a bloody shot if she'd known. How long could they have had together if she'd been like every other normal sod and turned up in advance for her train, instead of waiting to the very last bleeding moment to make an appearance? She could even hear the fucking train approaching!

"I'm  _so_  sorry, m'lady. I should've-"

She broke off abruptly at the feel of soft lips, the softest she'd ever felt, against her cheek, and something stirred inside her unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

"Take care of yourself…Sarah," Cora whispered as she pulled back, smiling tremulously.

Sarah sucked in a shaky breath, doing the best she could to smile back as her heart did a dozen bloody back flips inside her chest. It was the first time in so long that Cora had used her Christian name and that, coupled with the kiss, made her dizzy with emotion.

"And you too m'lady. You tell me if Anna needs whipping into shape and I'll be back here like a shot. She's never looked after a  _real_ lady before, not a Countess anyway, and she thinks there's nothing more to it than sewing on buttons."

Cora laughed hoarsely, sliding her hand up to Sarah's cheek and brushed her thumb over her skin. Her heart twisted in pain as the train finally came into view, signaling an end to their time together with an ominous and damned inconvenient whistle, and she patted down Sarah's hair carefully and smoothed down the creases in her bodice. "I'll try and be patient, but there's nobody,  _nobody_ , quite like you."

Sarah swallowed, leaning in to the hand pressing against her cheek and felt the traitorous flutter of her heart. She hadn't felt like this for so long she could barely remember the last time, but she felt it now in the violent spasm of her heart and the heat suddenly flooding into her cheeks.

"I feel the same, m'lady."

She smiled unsteadily, covering the hand resting against her cheek and squeezed the other woman's fingers softly before reluctantly letting go. Her father was expecting her, no matter how long she'd stay here given half a bloody chance and basking in the warmth of her ladyship's gaze, and the train had already pulled into the platform. If she didn't leave now she never would.

"I'll write m'lady," she muttered, pulling back reluctantly from the touch of her hand and picking up the suitcase sitting by her side.

Cora nodded, forcing a smile and took a step back.

"I'll hold you to that, O'Brien. I may not be your mistress anymore, but I very much hope I'm still your friend."

'Friend' was far too simple for what her ladyship was to her, and it wasn't until Sarah was safely on the train with her luggage in the appropriate compartment and some miserable bastard's legs knocking against hers, until Cora was nothing more than a magnificent speck on the horizon engulfed in the smoke of the train, that the realization hit her, splintering her foolish heart into a million sodding pieces.

How long had she been in love with Cora Crawley?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of Sarah O'Brien's favourite brother has far-reaching consequences for all. This particular chapter is M rated, though it's not the pairing you might be hoping for!

It was only later that night, when she'd finally retired to her bedroom without her husband, and Anna had come and gone to undress her, that Cora allowed herself the luxury of tears.

She survived the remainder of the day on autopilot. She joined her family for breakfast, she had luncheon with her mother-in-law, she attended to her correspondence and met with Mrs. Patmore as if she hadn't just lost her confidante. Robert would no doubt scoff once he realized just how aggrieved she was and berate her for her selfishness when men were  _dying_  in France whilst Cousin Matthew fought amongst them, but he had never understood. Bates was no Sarah O'Brien. He could barely even do his job, and Robert had never understood that Sarah was as much her family as Rosamund was, and maybe even more so!

Cora suddenly caught sight of something on the mantelpiece, something she had missed entirely before, but recognized the neat script immediately. She frowned and tossed the covers unconcernedly from her body, pushing herself up and very nearly stumbled over herself in her hurry to reach the mantelpiece. Cora curled her fingers tentatively around the piece of paper, as carefully as she would handle glass. Lord knows how she had neglected to notice it before – Sarah had been gone since the early morning after all, but she'd spent the majority of the day bothering Mrs. Hughes downstairs in a fruitless attempt to distract herself from the misery practically crushing her chest, and she'd left the house so suddenly this morning in the hopes of catching Sarah that she'd obviously missed it.

It was quite obviously a letter, the first of many Cora hoped, and she sliced it open with all the care she could muster amongst the desperate enthusiasm to read the words enclosed. It was just as short as she'd expected – O'Brien had never been one for words – but what it did say, no matter how short, brought goddamn tears to her eyes  _again_.

_Your ladyship,_

_By the time you read this I'll be gone. I say that like I'm running away but the truth is if I had a choice there's nowhere I'd rather be than at Downton Abbey with you. I wouldn't take any of it back my lady._

There was a dot then, a notable smudge where the pen had obviously wavered, and Cora imagined quite a lot of thought had gone into the next sentence.

_I haven't always been good to you my lady and I've never deserved you and there are some things I'll never forgive myself for, but I've always tried to be the best maid I can be._

_Try to eat something while I'm gone, will you? I hope I'm not being impertinent but you're a skinny thing as it is._

_Yours always,_

_Sarah O'Brien._

Having finished reading, Cora folded up the letter carefully, closing her eyes for a moment as she held it against her chest and breathed deeply, in and out. She had no idea when she would see Sarah again, but the day wouldn't come soon enough.

She slipped the letter underneath her pillow and laid her head down upon it, but lord knew there would be no sleep tonight. And somewhere, deep in Lancashire, she suspected the same to be truth for O'Brien.

~

It didn't take Sarah long to settle back into life in Scouthead. Her father was just the same as he always had been – a miserable beggar, but still with a sense of humour so sharp it sometimes took her by surprise – and so was every other bugger who had ever lived there. She still recognised most faces in the village; childhood playmates, old classmates, the little boy from next door who she'd shared her first kiss with. But some faces were notably absent, boys her brothers had grown up with; it was like the village of the Valkyries, and the sense of loss was palpable.

She hadn't forgotten Cora. On the contrary, she thought of her every bloody day, morning, afternoon and night, like she was cursed to forever recall her beautiful face and the curves of her body and how she had felt in her arms.

"I don't understand why we have to go into the village to collect our own bloody mail," Sarah muttered darkly as she strolled along the path to the village with he father. Life out here had always been slow but not  _this_  slow and there was so much to do back at the farm it seemed daft they had to leave and come all the way into town. But it was worth it for an hour or two like this with her Dad.

Mel snorted. "You know full well what they're like; lazy beggars, the lot of 'em."

His voice didn't have quite the same bite as usual though and Sarah arched her brow; her father wasn't one for suffering fools this lightly.

"What about Bert? The gangly one who used to deliver it?"

It had been years since she'd lived here, but Sarah still remembered the lot of them, generations of men and women that had lived in this village since the dark ages, and they remembered her too. They'd been stopped six times en route to the village, and if one more person called her 'Sass' she'd swing for them.

"Gone. They called him up last month," Mel muttered.

"But he's a  _child_."

"He's nineteen." They shared a meaningful look. "Most of the young lads were called up around the time that Alfie-"

Sarah squeezed her father's arm in support.

"But Bert only turned eighteen a month ago."

"I bet his mother is beside herself."

"They're  _all_  beside themselves. There's not a mother in the village who hasn't lost someone to the war. Even if they're not dead yet."

"Bert can take care of himself," Sarah said after a moment, injecting lightness into her voice where there had been none before. "He kicked me last time I was here."

Mel smirked and tightened his arm through hers, but the easy silence was interrupted by a voice behind them.

"Sarah?"

She meant it. If someone else called her bloody Sass she'd hit the roof, but this voice was achingly familiar and she recognised him immediately as she turned. It all seemed a lifetime ago now, but here he was in the flesh, looking like not a single day had gone by, and for a moment she was back in 1903.

"Mickey Briggs?" His eyes creased in a grin, and Sarah's heart fluttered. He was still a handsome bastard, even after all of this time. "I thought you'd gone off to the coast to set up a hotel."

Mickey smiled ruefully and gave an embarrassed shrug. "It didn't work out." He fixed his eyes on hers suddenly and her breath caught. Still the same deep shade of blue; she must have a thing of blue eyes, god help her. "When have I ever been able to do anythin' without  _your_   help?"

Sarah snorted and conceded the point.

"I haven't seen you since..."

"Since you broke my heart and left me to be a lady's maid?" Mickey smirked slightly and Sarah flushed pink. "How did that work out?"

She hesitated. "Better than I ever expected," Sarah muttered with a sad smile. There had been some bad times and some miserable ones, but it had all been worth it in the end.

"Are you back in town for good, lad?" her father asked.

"I haven't decided yet. You know me. I like to play things by ear."

"You got time to come back and have some dinner with us?" He looked rather  _too_  pointedly between Sarah and Mickey and she fought the urge to roll her eyes at how obvious he was being, but her father had always been so fond of Mickey and, although he never voiced it, disappointed in her when she had broken off the engagement.

Mickey looked to her for approval and she didn't have the heart to say no with the full force of those wonderful blue eyes on hers and the familiar boyish smile that still made her slightly weak at the knees. Besides, her father had never been one for not getting his own way, and Mickey would come for dinner whether she liked it or not.

"You can peel the potatoes," she smirked.

Mickey smiled broadly, his eyes full of hope, and for the first time since she had left Downton Abbey her heart felt somewhat light.

~

"Have you given my suggestion any thought, my dear?"

Truthfully, Cora had given precious little thought other than the issue of her missing maid and the void that she had left in her wake. She'd been practically in mourning since O'Brien's departure – she might as well make it official and resort to the deepest and darkest recesses of her wardrobe where her mourning clothes resided. That was if they  _did_  reside there. In reality she didn't have a clue where her mourning clothes were, whether they were in her bedroom or elsewhere. O'Brien had handled each and every article of her clothing within a stringent system that only she herself truly understood, and there had been little time before her departure for the other woman to impart all she knew upon her mistress.

She sipped her tea absently. "Which suggestion?"

"Why, arranging for a new lady's maid of course. Whatever else? O'Brien's departure is a pity of course – she was an exemplary maid – but she is certainly not irreplaceable. What about that charming candidate we considered when Simmons abandoned me? The foreign girl?"

"I don't think so."

"Really Cora, you know as well as I do that  _French_  maids are superior. O'Brien was admittedly very skilled indeed, but I am  _sure_  we can find an adequate replacement."

"I don't  _want_  to find a replace, I refuse to replace O'Brien. It's as simple as that."

"There's no need for hysterics, my dear-"

"I am not hysterical, I am being perfectly realistic. I will  _not_  replace O'Brien."

Cora opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the click of the door, and the footsteps of her husband entering. He smiled his usual congenial smile of greeting, which darkened momentarily as he noticed his mother's presence. The irritation lasted a mere moment – he really was a consummate gentleman – before his smile reasserted itself and he moved into the drawing room to join his mother and wife. She could certainly sympathize; Cora couldn't remember the last time they'd enjoyed more than an hour alone as husband and wife. Even their bedtime conversations had slowly become a thing of the past, eclipsed by the realities of war and everything other thing that seemed to demand their attention with more urgency than their need for one another. Still, the sight of him warmed her heart for the first time today, and the loss of O'Brien hurt marginally less. It would return in full force later of course, but for now she resolved to change the subject and enjoy her husband's company and the restraining effect it would hopefully have on her mother-in-law's tongue.

Robert rounded her chair and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze of support. At least she could count on  _Robert's_  support, no matter how little time they had together.

"Mama, I didn't realize you were visiting."

_Nor had he wanted her to_ , Cora thought with a small measure of amusement, but Violet would not be silenced heavens forbid!

"I rather wish I hadn't. Cora's going American on me."

Cora rolled her eyes and refused to even dignify that with a response. She had long since hardened her heart to  _those_  sorts of digs, and twenty-eight years after Violet had first begun making them she knew they were  _mostly_  affectionate…mostly. Her mother-in-law could be overwhelmingly caustic, but she always meant well, no matter how brutal her manner or words. They had come a long way since that first meeting almost three decades ago, when Violet had done her utmost to discourage the match and push her as far away from her precious son as possible, but she would  _never_  go as far as to say that things were smooth between them. Even a world war wouldn't change that.

"I don't see how. I simply refuse to replace O'Brien."

She heard Robert's sigh from beside her and knew from that very moment on that she would not have an ally in her husband when it came to this subject, and steeled herself against the inevitable well-mannered protest.

"Darling, you must replace O'Brien at  _some_  point."

"Thank you Robert," Violet chimed in immediately with her usual triumphant aplomb, and Cora felt her patience, which was already in short supply, begin to dwindle. "You are a Countess Cora, not a  _Baroness_ and you must conform to the particular standards expected of you! Heavens, have I taught you nothing in the last thirty years?"

"Of course you have, you've taught me a great deal but I won't be moved on this issue. You can gather as many resumes as you like, you can organize a hundred interviews but I will not hire a single one of them."

Violet opened her mouth, but for once in thirty years Cora refused to be stopped and she cut her protests short, and pushed herself up with as much dignity as she could muster.

"That is all I will say, except to remind you this is  _my_  house – mine and Robert's – and whether or not I hire a replacement lady's maid is entirely my business. Good day."

~

He came to her late that night when she had just about given up on him, but she supposed this way they could skip the uncomfortable conversation and skip straight to sleep or whatever else they might do instead of talking. Cora looked up from the vanity table, sparing her husband a small smile that he quickly reciprocated. They might not talk as often as they used to do, but they certainly didn't lack for smiles, although sometimes Cora found herself questioning the sincerity behind them. She loved him of course, but there seemed to be something lacking now, something that hadn't been in short supply before, and she couldn't help but wonder where it had gone and when exactly they had lost it. She wondered whether Robert had noticed it too.

"Come to bed, Cora," Robert murmured as he climbed into bed, and Cora found herself quickly obeying, if only to avoid a conversation. She could see the intent in his eyes and knew exactly what he wanted from her. After twenty-eight years it was difficult to mistake that particular glimmer in his eyes, and she pushed herself up from her chair, slipping her dressing gown off in preparation. It was much too hot for a dressing gown anyway; O'Brien would have never put it on her shoulders in this kind of heat, and it was yet another knock against Anna who was perfectly competent, but she simply didn't know her like O'Brien had.

"Have we had another letter from Cousin Matthew?" Cora asked gently. It was a safe question, with a certain yes or no answer. Robert could elaborate as much as he liked, but at least they would say something to each other, even if it was little more a simple yes or no.

"Not since the last." His smile was tight, concerned, and Cora wondered whether he would be quite so worried about his  _own_  children.

It had been a constant complaint of hers recently, and even she was tired of hearing it. Robert could hardly accuse her of harboring bad feelings to Matthew – she'd accepted him rather admirably as part of their family, given the circumstances. Even Cousin Isobel couldn't deny her that – but her fondness for him simply did not extend to favoring the young man over her own flesh and blood. All three of their daughters needed to be settled and soon, and Mary was the biggest concern of all. She'd thrown away Evelyn Napier, Anthony Strallen, even Cousin Matthew and her virtue – one of the last cards she'd had to play – had been long since abandoned. But Robert only saw Matthew.

"I'm sure he's fine darling. He's very resourceful."

"Being resourceful doesn't stop a bullet my dear," Robert muttered, sighing heavily. But how would Cora know that? She had never fought in a war, she had never done anything more taxing than dancing a waltz. She knew nothing of sacrifice, of hard work. No; that wasn't strictly fair. His wife was anything but lazy, but there was a  _war_  one and people were dying and he couldn't fight beside them, and all Cora seemed to care about was her blasted troublemaker of a maid!

He drew in a calming breath and slid his hand over her hip as she joined him in bed, drawing her closer until their thighs pressed together and Cora could feel the heat of his skin.

For one inexplicable moment she found herself fighting the urge to pull back.

She had never pulled back before, not once in their two decade long marriage unless there had been specific cause to; her monthly curse, a pregnancy. She had never even used the headache excuse her sister-in-law seemed so fond of promoting - she supposed Marmaduke had been somewhat easier to say no to than Robert - she had never found herself  _needing_  to use it. Robert's touch had always been perfectly welcome, enjoyable even, but for this one moment she hesitated.

It had been a week since they had last made love, so why did she want to push him away?

"Are you alright Cora?" Robert asked softly.

Of course he had noticed. He knew her well after all. Cora nodded quickly and forced a smile, pressing a warm hand firmly against his chest and making her acquiescence perfectly clear, and sealed it with a kiss. She pressed herself against his front, effectively silencing any further inquisition - and Robert had never let things go easily, she found it ridiculously difficult to keep a secret from the man; she was rather shocked that the Pamuk business hadn't emerged yet - with her tongue. He quickly responded, sliding his hand from her hip to the small of her back and then lower, stroking the curve of her buttock affectionately.

The touch would have thrilled her before; Robert had never been one for foreplay, but then most men weren't unless they were  _Rosamund's_ lovers, and even then she suspected she conducted interviews before allowing somebody in her bed. But instead she felt nothing; no excitement, no anticipation, and certainly not the rush of warmth between her thighs she had become so accustomed to. She considered stopping for a moment and sharing her concerns with Robert, but he himself seemed more than adequately excited and Mama had warned her about injuring a man's ego. Instead she wrapped one long leg around her husband's waist, anchoring him close and hoped he didn't notice the lack of reaction in her  _own_  body.

She was upset. That must surely be the reason. She had lost her maid and her confidante, and she would recover in time, and intimacy with Robert would be as it always was. And until it was, she would do as Rosamund had always suggested in times like these; fake it.

Wrapping her arms around Robert, she closed her eyes as he tugged up her nightdress, bunching it around her hips and hooked his fingers around her underwear. It would be a quick and hurried affair – she could sense it from the speed in which he divested her of her drawers – and she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. He slid inside her unceremoniously and she spread her legs to accommodate his girth, curling her hands around his shoulders and pressing her face into his neck. This 'faking it' business would go so much more smoothly if Robert couldn't see the lack of pleasure on her face.

No. That wasn't especially fair. It wasn't entirely without pleasure, it was just lacking in the  _usual_  kind of pleasure. There was no connection between them. Her body was very much here, and she breathed into Robert's neck with every fast and clumsy thrust, but her mind, her  _heart_  was somewhere else entirely. She bit her lip as he came inside her, and she had never been more relieved to have him slide free of her and roll onto his side. Surely that made her the worst kind of wife?

"Darling, we need to talk about Mary."

"Not now Cora." He slung his arm around her and pulled her close, and Cora breathed in. She felt so suddenly claustrophobic in his arms that her head span and she closed her eyes to counter the dizziness. What on earth was wrong with her?

Or rather, stop talking. That she could do. She would welcome sleep right now, anything to rid of her of the emptiness between her thighs and the pain in her heart.

"And please darling, be reasonable about this lady's maid business."

She supposed she didn't have any other choice.


End file.
